


Isadore

by Altenprano



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Kane Chronicles - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, Isis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:24:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altenprano/pseuds/Altenprano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Isis is Egyptian, and is bound by their laws, but she is also Greek and Roman, and like them, will bear children to mortals she finds deserving of her gifts." Cynthia is a daughter of Isis by the Goddess's Greek aspect, and as a child of three worlds-- Egypt, Rome, and Greece-- she is forced to act as the goddess's messenger to the three.  When Rome declares war, Cynthia must make her decision about where her loyalties lie: to her mother's people, the people who she loves, or herself, before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isadore

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, only everyone who doesn't seem to belong. :)  
> Possible OCxOC later, maybe not. I don't know.

**Rome**

_Cynthia closed her eyes, trying to drown out the cries of the Romans as they applauded their senate's decision to go to war with the Greeks, then Egypt. Did they know a daughter of Isis stood among them, hidden, like her mother had stayed for years, waiting for the moment to reveal herself? Of course she wasn't going to reveal herself-- Cynthia was not her mother, nor was she as stupid. Terminus, the Romans' guardian god, had barely let her within the city limits of New Rome, but even that did not soften what the Romans would do to her if she were to be caught._

_Self-consciously, she tugged her sleeves over her wrists and pulled the collar of her jacket up, concealing the scars she bore from her last visit to New Rome, when she had been dragged through its streets in a Triumph led by a preator who, for some reason now, was gone. The scars were mostly faded now, reflections of her life four years ago that wouldn't go away, even when the mirror was shattered, but she still felt that they were open wounds, marking her as a victim of Rome. If the preators saw the scars, they would kill her for sure this time, or decide some other cruel fate for her._

_"Sons and daughters of Rome, let us proceed with preparations for war! By this time next month, we shall strike at the heart of those wretched Greeks, and then lay waste to what our ancestors merely tamed!" the augur-- Cynthia couldn't remember his name, not that she wanted to-- said, reading the entrails of, of all possible things, a stuffed alligator._

_The silver viper around her wrist tensed, sensing Cynthia's malaise and trying to come to life, but Cynthia willed it back to inanimacy. The last thing she wanted was the enchanted viper, a gift from a friend back home, exposing her for what she was. That would only expose her further, for she was unable to control the viper's actions without displaying her mother’s power._

_Whispering a soft lullaby about the rise of the Nile as she stroked the snake, the daughter of Isis made haste out of Rome, and onward to Egypt._

**Egypt**

_Sweat shone on her forehead as she strode through the Hall of Ages, her head held high and her gaze intent on the end of the hallway. Once or twice, she would let her attention flick to the images on the wall, only to quickly return to the space in front of her. She caught whispers as she passed groups of magicians, mostly teens, she noted, who were watching her cautiously, as if she might explode in a fury characteristic of her mother._

_“I am not my mother,” she hissed under her breath, her blood flowing red-hot in her veins, hot with anger, hot with magic, and hot with fear._

_The Egyptians were in awe of her mother, but they feared her, for she was as cunning as she was powerful. They regarded her only child, at least by her Egyptian aspect, with awe and respect, claiming all Pharaohs as descendants of the great Goddess, but her children by her other aspects, though all aspects of the Goddess were no different than looking in a mirror, were regarded with fear. They had every right to fear the children of the Greek and Roman Isis, who belonged to none of the three great civilizations, drifters for this reason. Isis was constant throughout all three of the great civilizations, and she was, more or less, a symbol of peace between them._

_As she neared the end of the hallway, she dropped into a kneel before the throne, now occupied by a boy no older than herself, recalling the formalities she observed with her mother. “Rome has declared war,” she said, rising with all the grace she could muster. She saw a familiar face behind the throne, familiar only because he shared her link to the Greeks, but didn’t acknowledge him. Past experience reminded her that he liked to go unnoticed, barely there, and that while he was proud of his mixed heritage, he didn't like it being broadcast all over the world._

_An old man sitting beside the throne looked at her skeptically. “And who are you to inform us of that?” he asked, his old body tensing like a lion before he pounces._

_Cynthia took a deep breath, controlling the power in her blood with practiced ease. “I am Cynthia Londres, daughter of Isis,” she answered, still watching the shadow behind the throne out of the corner of her eye._

_“Impossible! Isis cannot have children,” the old man scoffed. “What trickery are you about, Miss Londres?”_

_“Isis is Egyptian, and is bound by their laws, but she is also Greek and Roman, and like them, will bear children to mortals she finds deserving of her gifts,” the shadow behind the throne said, still keeping to his shadows. Those were her mother’s words, spoken in a tone that Cynthia found comforting and frightening at the same time. It was with those words, in a voice that echoed and even sounded like magic, that Isis had revealed her connection to Cynthia._

_She nodded, confirming the son of Serapis’s explanation for her existence, then rose without an order. "If you want proof, Your Grace," she said, a sly smile playing across her lips, "ask the Goddess herself. Perhaps she will answer." She extended a silent prayer to Isis, asking her to reveal herself in her daughter, for the sake of Egypt._

_The old man narrowed his eyes."Your so-called mother is the mother to all orphans. For all I know, you aren't her blood-child, but just another orphan looking for greatness," he sneered._

_Cynthia didn't answer; she didn't dare speak, for if she did, her cause would be lost. Instead she cast her eyes downward, bowed to the Pharaoh, and left the Hall of Ages, changing her arms to wings-- just as her mother was known to have done-- so that her travel to the home of the young Greeks would be swift._


End file.
